Quick little fic for you!
“Hello, Other Mr. Pines! Where’s Mr. Pines?”
Ford looked up from his list and gave Soos an absentminded nod in greeting. “Stan’s upstairs. Apparently he left a pouch of quarters up there during the 80s and he’s fixated on finding where, before we leave.”
“Okiedokie, Other Mr. Pines! I’ll go help him out.”
Eyes drawn back to the packing list it took Ford’s memory another second to catch up with his mind. “Oh, that reminds me! I had a question for you.”
Soos stopped in the doorway out of the gift shop. The way he looked over his shoulder called to mind an amusing, short animal video Mabel had shown Ford on that popular Tube-Yube site. Will have to make a note to ask for a DNA-sample later on. It could be an issue if interdimensional hairless gophers-
“Eh, is there going to be a question soon? Or are we testing some telepathy thing? ‘Cause that would be cool.”
Startled, Ford straightened up and cleared his throat, in an effort to hide his derailed train of thought. “No, not today. Though I may ask you for assistance with that in the future.” Before another idea flow could distract him, Ford said: “I was wondering, who did Stan hire to set up the vending machine door?”
That drew a thoughtful hum from Soos. “I’ve fixed it from time to time, but just the vending machine part. Didn’t know it was a door until the day you came back.”
“I made it.”
Ford narrowly avoided knocking over a box of bobble-heads. His fingers twitched for a weapon and he stuck his hands in his pockets before he could reach for one. Incredulity also helped to dampen his fight-or-fight reflex.
Shouldering into the room from behind Soos, Stan waved at the vending machine with an air of indifference. “Couldn’t exactly hire people to build a secret door, could I?” he huffed. “And your bookshelf would have stuck out like a sore thumb here in the shop. Way too easy to open too.”
That…that made sense, yes, but it opened up for many more questions. “But how-”
“There are How To guides for everything, if you know where to look,” Stan said, dismissive. “And you pick up a thing or two along the way of life. Was far easier than getting that portal thing of yours to work again.”
“Huh,” Soos said, the embodiment of acceptance without questioning. “So, did you find your quarters?”
Stan’s indifferent expression shifted into a wide grin. “You bet!” He held up a small pouch and shook it, causing the telltale jingle of coins.
“That’s great, Mr. Pines! By the way, did you find any chips up there? I’m pretty sure I had a stash upstairs before the giant robot fight, but didn’t find it when we rebuilt. Best get to it before the mice do, you know?”
Ford tuned out Stan’s answer to be able to focus on this new-old revelation. He really shouldn’t have been surprised - it was the only answer that made sense - but…
“You coming, Sixer?”
“In a moment.”
Ford watched Soos and Stan leave. He glanced at the vending machine. He had a lot to think about. Well, re-think about.
“Stan?” Ford said, hours later, while they were preparing dinner. Or rather, while Stan was preparing dinner and Ford was going through the list one more time. When setting out for a sea voyage avoiding pit stops for forgotten toothbrushes or uranium would be preferable.
“What?” Stan grunted back, all his focus on the greasy mess of bacon and eggs he was pushing around the frying pan.
Ford weighed his words carefully. Lightning fast reflexes created by decades of dimension hopping had kept him alive, yes, but it wasn’t a great basis for developing social skills. To be fair, his hadn’t been too stellar before the portal incident either.
“Stan, I hope you…that is to say I…Stan…”
“Out with it!” Stan’s voice was gruff but cheerful, with a hint of an edge to it. Not a great sign. “Can’t concentrate on my cooking with you yammering on like that.”
Best take the proverbial bull by the horns.
“You do know you’re not stupid, don’t you?”
Stan mid-con was a man hard to read, even to close family. Stan taken by surprise was, bewilderingly enough, as expressive as the interpretive dancers of Dimension X3-Z. His back stiffened, inch by inch, until he stood ramrod straight by the stove, all but vibrating with discomfort.
A long, heavy silence settled between them, leaving Ford to do some frantic mental backtracking.
“What I mean to say is,” he said, before he’d figured out what he actually wanted to say, “that even if, eh- I know our father was- No, what I meant to say is that I may have said, that is to say I did say some very regrettable things about your intelligence, both when we were younger and now that we’re…I just wanted to let you know I know I was wrong, and that all you’ve done here is a testament to your own skills and…” Ford snapped his mouth shut, desperate both to stop the incoherent torrent of words and to try and read Stan’s rigid posture for any hint of change. “And I’m…I’m sorry.” A lame finish, as the youths of today likely would have put it.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Stan’s shoulders climbed down from ear-height and returned to their usual slope. “It’s fine, Sixer,” he said, low and rough, but not angry. “It’s all fine.”
“It’s…really not.”
“Maybe.” Stan gave a one-shoulder shrug. “But the past is the past. You can’t go digging through it too much or you’ll get buried under all the trash. Trust me on that one.”
“But-”
“We’re going sailing tomorrow, aren’t we?” Stan stayed turned towards the stove, but his stiff posture had melted back into his usual stance. “That’s better than any apology you could stutter out, you hear me? For such a smart guy, you’re really crap at talking about stuff that ain’t science.”
Ford had to chuckle at that. “I suppose I am.”
A new silence settled over the kitchen; this one far more comfortable than the last. Stan poked some more at the egg and bacon. Ford went back to his list. He let it draw all of his attention for several seconds, until a strange yet familiar sounds distracted him.
“…Stan, are you-?”
“Got some grease in my eye, that’s all!”